The sweet scent of silk flowers fills the cool interior of the bridal sedan. Your veil is pulled down, over your eyes, and your hands twist about in your lap, nails bitten down to the quick. You sit, head bowed, waiting, trembling, forcing your lungs to work. One breath, and then another. You remember learning about how the smallest creatures like mice and birds have such high heart rates that their pulses sound like humming. You'd never thought that your own heart could take off at a pace that might rival theirs.

The silence outside is deafening. Previously, there had been screams. Horrible. Agonizing. Unceasing. Hilichurls had fallen upon the bridal party, everyone fleeing and scattering in a fury of desperation. And just as quickly, the screams filling your ears had died away, replaced by the loudest thumps and a rushing like the heaviest rapids, a ferocious onslaught of combat that had made the bridal sedan protest with the creaks and moans of a thousand ghosts. And then, finally, silence. Thick, all-consuming silence. You'd frozen, afraid to move, scared to open your eyes to find out that you had died.

You're vaguely aware of the silken curtains of the bridal sedan being pushed aside. There are no candles or lanterns, and yet the small space brims full of the warmest, brightest light. An outstretched hand awaits. The fingers are tanned, wholly familiar to you, calloused and corded with muscles.

You remember holding onto them, his skin bleeding warmth into your own chilled fingers.

Now, that same hand is waiting for yours, waiting for you to place your hand in his. The realization tightens your chest until you can hardly breathe.

You take Zhongli's outstretched hand.

Your first step from the sedan and onto solid ground has your legs feeling unsteady, like that of a newborn deer; you stumble towards him, nearly falling, and Zhongli steadies you with a free hand upon the small of your back. The scent of the silk flowers mingles strongly with the sandalwood soap clinging to his clothes. You're dizzy and embarrassed when you pull away, the smell and the feel of him filling you so powerfully that you feel dizzy.

Being with him is as easy as breathing. You've done this a thousand times before, after all. Back when you had loved him, when afternoons with him had been spent walking around Liyue, when nights had culminated with your head nestled against the crook of his neck. Your fingers are entwined with his, his calloused palm pressing against yours as he escorts you along the grassy plains. You shouldn't like the feel of his hands in yours, but you do. You pull your veil down lower, the red fabric obscuring your face; all Zhongli can see are the delicate fingers of your hand, clutching at the silk.

The moon hangs full and ripe in the sky, and lights the way ahead with cool light. The walk to the village is silent, the pace slow and unhurried, Zhongli's footsteps lacking their usual brisk determination. It's almost as if the two of you are trying to preserve the time you still have with each other, but it's a useless, fleeting dream. No matter how you wish for time to slow to a halt, no matter how powerful Zhongli might be, a god descended to earth, even he is unable to stop the flow of time.

All too soon, you arrive at the gates of your husband's village.

In spite of yourself, you fall back apprehensively, understanding that once you step forwards, across the threshold, you'll be committed to the future lying ahead of you. Within minutes you'll be a married woman, and when you try to imagine what lies ahead, no thoughts form. Your heart clenches; whether in gladness for the life ahead of you, or in protest for the one you've left behind, the reason is unclear.

You look at your joined hands, a fragile link despite its physicality. The scent of silk flowers is overwhelming. Zhongli looks at you, straightening out the creases in your veil, rearranging the flowers pinned to your hair, and you meet his eyes for the first time, revealing the tendrils of hair, the extent of your vulnerability in the line of your cheek. It's almost like entering a dream. You're not sure how long you stay silent, but you're acutely aware of his presence, his eyes on you, his pain.

His words are barely a whisper, strained and uncertain. "Does he make you happy?"

"Yes."

"Then that's all that matters."

Zhongli's eyes are pained, but his smile is gentle as he brings your hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss on your knuckles. Giving it one last squeeze, he places it back at your side and lets go, backing away.

His amber eyes are glazed, like light shining upon a pond, and for the smallest of moments, you wonder if they could be tears.